


Rhapsody Of Our Hearts

by A_Sherlocked__Girl



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Eventual Johnlock, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, More tags will be added later, Music school AU, Pianist John, Pianist Sherlock, Violinist Sherlock, different first meeting, rating will change later too
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-24
Updated: 2015-01-27
Packaged: 2018-03-08 21:30:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3224117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Sherlocked__Girl/pseuds/A_Sherlocked__Girl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is transferred to the London Music Academy where he finds out that his next door neighbour is a bizarre kid. Let's see what happens ;)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Anacrusis

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys, I watched this wonderful Japanese manga Nodame Cantabile a few years ago and lost my heart to it. This story is inspired by the manga but I won't follow the same story-line or plot structure, though some similarities will be there. And the POVs will be a bit haphazard, though I tried my best to make it easy to understand. Hope it will be okay for you.
> 
> I confess that my knowledge about Classical music (using an umbrella term here) and British educational system is totally Google based. So whenever you find out any flaw just let me know and I'll rectify it. But I hope technicalities won't matter in case of finding love :D
> 
> I like to thank all the brilliant people of AO3 (writers as well as readers) who inspired me to write. This is not Brit-picked or Beta'd, every mistake is mine.

[/anəkru:sis/ - A note or a series of notes that comes before the first main part. A pick up. ]

_221A…..221B…..221C_

_So, this is it._

He dropped his duffle beside his trolley case, fished out the key and finally opened the door. The room was nice and quite spacious for a hostel; well, not a hostel actually, this building was mainly meant for faculty members but some students with _rich_ parents could also arrange their accommodations here. It had a balcony with a park in view. A bedroom with an attached bathroom, a living room with his Piano and a small kitchen area. Over all it was really nice. John liked it.

 

[John H. Watson (he made sure no one knew his middle name), 23, piano major final year Post Graduation ,  London Music Academy. 5’6’’,  honey blond with cobalt blue eyes and a button nose. Handsome, popular, friendly, not-so-out bisexual and a brilliant Piano player.]

 

John ran his fingers though his hair, rubbed his neck, took his water bottle out of his backpack and went to the balcony to lean against the railing. The quiet of the evening soothed his tired body and mind. He closed his eyes and thought over the whirlwind of the last few days. A transfer in final year, how long was he going to tumble from place to place? _What are you doing here John, you should be in France,_ _should be doing which you always dreamt to do. What will happen after this?_ Everything was so frustrating _._ John stopped to take a deep breath and…..

 

“WHAT THE BLOODY HELL!!!!!”

 

John’s self doubting monologue screeched to a stop and he almost choked out of his life by _a smell_ the evening breeze quite uninvitingly brought. John very bravely removed his palm from his nose and again the smell hit him like a freight train. It was coming from the….. from the _next door_!

 

“Did someone or something die in there? Or is it some kind of first day dorm prank?!” grumbled John.  _God, so much for a quiet evening of self loathing._ John came back in the room and shut tight the sliding door.

 

He contemplated playing something at the moment but decided to take a long hot bath instead. He took his toiletries, change of clothes and entered the bathroom. Just when he was toweling his hair and looking for his oatmeal jumper the sound came. _Violin,_ thought John. It was coming from the… the _next door_ again!

 

‘Who the hell lives there?’ wondered John.

 

After listening for a few seconds he recognized it. Someone’s playing Bach’s Violin Sonata in G minor…. And it was……….marvelous! John had long stopped his searching; now his sat down on the bed and closed his eyes.

 

The piece was the part of six compositions labeled as Sonatas and Partitas for solo violin.  The emotions expressed in the compositions were intense yet free flowing. It was one of Bach’s most celebrated compositions…..

 

The music ended. John opened his eyes and wiped the tears which unconsciously dropped on his cheeks. He once again realized why he loved music so much.

 

~0~0~0~

 

He opened the microwave to place the leftover and saw the thumbs and remembered. _God, not again!_ He again forgot to dispose the thumbs Molly gave (subtext: he snatched) him for the experiment. It was really interesting how human body decomposed gradually but _the smell,_ even his love for science could not overshadow its awfulness. He took them to the waste-bin near his balcony door and dropped them and sighed.

 

The phone rang.

 

‘Hm’

 

‘Sherlock?’

 

‘No, Dudley from next door. Don’t be dull mum!’

 

‘Oh, you rude boy! How are you darling?’

 

‘It’s been only three days since you asked me that. I am in a music academy, mother, not in a rehabilitation centre.’

 

‘Sherlock! Answer your mother.’

 

‘Fine mum, I’m fine. You don’t need to worry about me. You have another cake addict son to take care, remember?’

 

‘I worry about both of you sweetheart, constantly. Anyway, have you applied for that competition yet? It will be good for you, Sherlock.’

 

‘How many times do I have to tell you that I have absolutely no interest in competitions? I crave knowledge, not fame.’

 

‘It’s about your future! You are so very talented Sherlock, you deserve so much more. Is it wrong for a mother to want to see her children get all the success they deserve?’

 

‘We are NOT having this conversation again.’

 

‘Oh, Sherlock… Anyway, okay… just eat at least once a day and sleep properly. I love you, call me sometimes, yes?’

‘Hm.’

 

[Sherlock  Holmes (no one, NO ONE, should know his full name), 19, Violin major, final year Graduation, also brilliant in piano, London Music Academy. 6’, brunette, lanky, pale, unconventionally attractive with heterochromia iridis, eccentric in every sense, terror to the teachers and feared by almost everyone. Sexual orientation: no one ever dared to ask.]

 

He ended the call. His appetite was long gone now so he picked up his violin, closed his eyes and connected the bow to the strings. Bach……

 

The song ended, Sherlock opened his eyes and realized, once again, he couldn't live without music.

 

~0~0~0~

 

 

02:00 am

 

Again the same nightmare. It happened thrice this week. He was really depressed, wasn't he? John realized that the sheets were damp by his sweat. He got up from his bed went to the bathroom and splashed some cold water. He looked at his reflection on the mirror. People often said he looked like his mum.

 

 _Mum….._ who sat him on her lap and taught him every key when he was barely four. His first teacher. Mum who cried at John’s first recital. Mum….only a memory now.

 

John went to the living room and opened the lid of his piano. A few seconds later London night was flooded with Beethoven. One of Mum’s favourites.

 

 

~0~0~0~

 

 

Sherlock jolted awake from his doze. He nodded off while analyzing a difficult composition.

 

_Moonlight Sonata._

‘It’s…..wonderful!’ murmured Sherlock. _It’s coming from the next door but wasn't it empty till this morning? he_  wondered.

 

The player was playing the second part, Aligretto. It was more of a bridge which connected the first and third part of the composition. It was small duration wise but the emotion was dense and heightened.

 

Sherlock was mesmerized. Who’s playing it? It was mainly a faculty residency building so probably a teacher but as far Sherlock knew (and he knew everything, well almost) none of those idiots (except for Hudders and Lestrade) could play it like this. He sat up on the bed. He had to meet the person. Had to. Sherlock considered going now but checked himself remembering how Hudders punished him when he woke her up at 3 am only to ask her if she could lend him two eggs. Well, it was for an experiment; for the betterment of science. He should have been rewarded. Instead she made him tidy up his whole apartment! For just two eggs! Cruel world.

 

Sherlock flopped down on his bed again. The music had ended. His head was buzzing with the melodies, fingers were itching to play but he stared up the ceiling and replayed the music in his mind. He had to meet the player.

 

 

~0~0~0~

 

 

John walked towards the main building. First day was always tiresome. Some awkward introductions, some lectures on how to improve or concentrate and at last the teacher assignment. Well, that was all settled before hand. He was assigned to Mr. Lestrade. He was the one who helped John with the transfer.

 

He was humming absently and trying to ignore some unabashed staring and giggling of some girls. What’s wrong with them? He felt like a gold fish on display.

 

‘John! John Watson!’

 

John halted and looked for the person who called.

_Ah, Stamford!_

 

 _‘_ Hello, Mike’

John extended his hand for shaking and in return met with a bear hug. The jolly old Mike. John patted his shoulder.

 

‘When have you arrived? Why didn't you inform me the date?’

 

‘Erm…just yesterday, I reached here yesterday. And I didn't want to make a fuss about this transfer, you know. It’s not a big deal, I mean.’ He smiled awkwardly. God, what was wrong with him? It’s Just Mike, one of his oldest friends from Glasgow. John tried to shake off his unease.

 

‘Hey, don’t say that! It’s a big deal for me. Alter all John Watson is joining this academy! You know some of the teachers were talking about you too.’

 

‘Really? Well, that’s good, I guess’

 

‘Yeah, pretty good.’

 

‘Umm…Mike, I have this introductory meeting with my Departmental Head in few minutes, I’ll talk to you later, yeah?’

 

‘Oh, yeah, sure mate. You have my number, yeah? Just text me when you are free.’

 

They parted and John entered his department.

 

 

~0~0~0~

 

 

Sherlock could not find his home assignment copy. The last time he saw it was in one of Billy’s eye sockets but could not find it now. It was a stupid assignment anyway but that idiot mentor of his was going to demand it today and would through a dramatic tantrum if Sherlock failed to submit it. _Ugh..its gonna be a long day._

 

Arriving at the building Sherlock decided to skip Mr. Grinch ’s (well, Green, actually) class but he could not use the private practice room without his permission. Though he always kept his lock pick close but he could not sneak in without avoiding that old moron in day time. He had to attend the class now. _Why can’t anyone be a little bit interesting in this god forsaken place?!_

 

And then he heard it again.

 

The piano.  The sound. It was a different piece this time, _Concerto No. 21 in C major, to be specific_ but Sherlock was sure the artist was the same. He frantically started searching for the source. He needed to see the player.

 

He jogged for those rooms which were used for piano practices. Three of them were empty but when he reached the fourth…….he found him.

 

He eyes were closed, shoulder relaxed, head was tilted a bit upwardly and the sunrays from the French windows were flooding his entire form, making his hair shining like gold. Sherlock’s eyes widened. It was so picturesque, almost ethereal. Sherlock watched those fingers, though they were not so called piano fingers but the sound they were producing were heavenly. Sherlock could not move, could not breathe. He was rooted to the spot. He felt like he had found sometime which he had been looking for so long; like his soul was somehow tuned with this sound.  He looked at the man, at his moving hands, taping foot, closed eyes, sun soaked hair and he felt something unfamiliar. He felt overwhelmed.

 

 

~0~0~0~

 

 

It was Mozart.

 

After first day formalities and scheduling John asked Mr. Lestrade for the practice room and started playing Mozart’s one of the concerto compositions (Concerto No. 21 in C major). Though it was an orchestral composition but John chose this piece to uplift his mood. It was famous for its fast tempo and rich colourful emotions it produced. He was lost in those sounds, drowning himself. There was no tension, no nightmares, no self doubt while he played. It was only him and the sound. Nothing else existed. He felt free, elevated.

 

He finished the piece but didn't open his eyes immediately. He let the lingering sounds sweep away  the confusion, the nerve wrecking dilemma of his mind and calm settled in. After reaching London it was the first time he felt so relaxed. He wanted to relish the moment as long as he could.

 

When the last chime of the song floated away from his head John opened his eyes and instinctively looked at the door on his left and startled.

 

There was a boy standing outside the door. John could only see his face through the small glass of the door. He was leaning so much that his nose was flat on the glass; he was pale as marble with striking features and a mop of curly hair and was staring at him owlishly without blinking! John felt it was a bit creepy but he didn’t avert his eyes and the boy, also, kept on staring. After few seconds John could not bear this weird staring game anymore and mouthed a hello and waved his hand a bit.

The boy fled instantly, as if just vanished into thin air. Hand hanging on mid air, mouth agape, John was dumbfounded.

 

‘okaaaay…..well, that was… erm.. strange!’ John muttered a bit dazedly, shook his head and prepared to leave.

 

 

~0~0~0~

 

 

Sherlock fled.

 

He practically ran towards his flat. _I need to play, right now. NOW. I need to capture those sounds, need to express them myself. I need to, I have to._ Mr. Green saw him, first called and then shouted after him but Sherlock didn’t care. He needed to play.

 

He entered his room, closed the door, leaned against it and panted. Whether it was for the physical exhaustion or his overwhelming urge for playing he could not tell. He tried to calm himself, took deep breaths to even out his pounding heart. His hands were practically shaking with energy and excitement. The passion emitted by that unknown artist that he witnessed a few moments ago worked on him like an adrenalin shot. He could see the sounds floating around in that room. It was so rare and now he wanted to recreate the same ambiance, he needed to. He went to his piano. Only this could vent out the emotions welling within him currently. Sherlock rested his long, lithe fingers on the keys, closed his eyes, thought about the boy and the sounds and then he began to play.

 

 

~0~0~0~

 

 

John first heard the sound when he was ascending the stairs and stopped instantly.

 

Concerto no. 21.

 

It was the same composition he had just finished a few minutes ago. He followed the sound and stood before the next door of his own flat. 221B.

 

After listening for a while John realized that though it was the same piece it was not identical. It was Mozart undoubtedly and the pianist was currently in the middle of movement but there were some minor changes, variations which were not in the original composition. _Whoever is playing it improvising!_  Thought John, and _he is doing it flawlessly._

 

Suddenly the face of that strange boy flashed in front of John’s eyes and he found himself really curious about finding the player. He decided to knock once the music stopped. Until then he stood there, absorbing the sounds.

 

The music finished eventually and John felt like floating. He himself was a good piano player (people considered him great, actually) but this playing had something else, something magical. It left him spellbound. He couldn't wrap around his mind around the idea that someone could play this piece so beautifully without even following it properly. He roused himself from that hypnotic state realizing that it was a while now that the music had stopped.

 

 John knocked.

 

He heard a rustle of something inside and the door opened.

 

That strange boy from school! He stood before John with his blue? green? no, definitely blue eyes.  John somehow expected it but still he was surprised. They, again, stared at each other. After few awkward seconds John mentally shook himself and began to speak and then the door slammed shut on his face. John’s jaw hung open and he couldn't react for a second.

 

‘What the bloody fucking hell?!!!’

 

John couldn't believe it! He just couldn’t. He was dumbstruck twice in a single day and by the same guy! He was a friendly person himself and quite popular. It was not that he never had to encounter rude people but did this guy just shut the door on his face?!

 

John knew that he should be fuming but he was too surprised to be angry right now. He opened his own door, _slammed shut_ it and went to his bedroom.

 

_Who the hell is that guy? Does he know me? Does he have a secret grudge against me? But how is that possible? I just moved in here yesterday! What the fuck is going on here?_

 

John’s head was a chaos. All the calm he gained from his own playing and from that weird boy’s playing just vaporized. He groaned and pulled the pillow over his face.

 

 

~0~0~0~

 

 

When Sherlock heard the knock he was a bit surprised. There were not many people who came to him. There was Mrs. Hudson and Mycroft and neither of them should be coming to meet him at this time of the day. He went up and opened the door.

 

 _The golden guy_. He was standing in front of Sherlock. His mind went blank. Well not really blank but a slide show of that practice room, of that sun kissed artist had started to run in his mind. And just when the guy began to speak Sherlock shut the door, with force. He could not bear it anymore.

 

He was shaking with nerves before he started to play and usually playing settled him down but that Golden guy just jumbled everything up again. That was so frustrating, so annoying, so….amazing.

 

 _His eyes were blue,_ thought Sherlock.

 

 

~0~0~0~

 

 

 _Was t_ _hat a knock?_ John’s mind was so fuzzy with sleep that he was not sure. But it came again, and again, and again. ‘Wait a sec’ John yelled. _Who the fuck is pounding at the door at_ , he quickly looked at the clock, _what? At 01.12 am_! The knock continued and John almost ran for the door.

 

‘Will you please just stop kno…’

 

John opened the door and stopped mid sentence. That strange boy, _again_! At 01:12 am. At his door. Pounding.

 

‘I am hungry. Will you heat these for me? My microwave is contaminated at the moment.’

 

John blinked in slow motion and replied,

 

‘Huh?’

 

 


	2. Capriccio

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John feeds Sherlock up!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is neither Brit-picked nor Beta'd; each mistake is mine. I hope you enjoy the chapter!

/kəpɾiʧio/- a lively and bizarre score of music. A short one.

 

 

 

 

 

 

John stood there, mouth agape with a Tupperware in hand, watching Sherlock waltz in his room.

 

‘Your room is bigger than mine. Why is your room bigger than mine? The only unoccupied place left in mine is under the piano. But here it is so spacious! Mycroft must have reduced my room space somehow. Hm. Can I move my new lab equipments in this corner?’

 

John was too shocked to response. _This bizarre boy almost knocked down my door, thrust a Tupperware at me, now prancing in my room and muttering god-knows-what and…oh my god! Did he just suggest moving his things in my room?!!! What did I miss?_

 

The sound of a piano key chimed in and that pulled John back from his mind.

 

‘Oi! What the fuck is going on here? Who are you? Why are you in my room? And what the bloody hell is this?’ John barked showing the food container.

 

‘Why are you yelling? There’s no need to shout. I already told you the reason behind my coming here so I will not going to repeat myself.  To answer your second question, the name is Sherlock Holmes.’ Sherlock declared with a smug smile and continued, ‘and the answer of your third question is in your hand right now.’

 

John again looked at his hand and then at the door. _When did I shut it? Damn!_ He took a deep breath to compose himself and stood in front of Sherlock.

 

‘Look, I don’t know you and nor have the slightest idea why are you here at the dead of the night but it will be good for both of us if you please return to you room and leave me alone.’

 

‘But you were dying to talk to me the whole day! I thought I was doing _you_ a favour.’

 

‘Me? Dying to ta… what are you talking about?! I don’t even know you!’

 

‘And you won’t ever if you don’t stop yelling. Now, John, please go and heat the leftover before I collapse on your couch.’ Sherlock flopped down on the couch as if to prove a point.

 

‘How do you know my name? Are you stalking me?’ John began to panic slightly.

 

‘Don’t be dull. Your Piano has your initial inscribed on it.’ Sherlock pointed the case.

 

‘But it says JW only!’

 

‘There is probably not a single student in this school who doesn’t know that the great John Watson is transferring here. Even I was forced to listen to some of the gossips! Tortuous!’

 

John rubbed his temple. His brain was not catching up. This kid was not sane, not entirely. It would be better if he just did what he was requested and got rid of this whole bizarre situation.

 

‘Don’t touch my Piano.’ Saying this John went to his little kitchen are.

 

Sherlock only shooed him.

 

**~0~0~0~**

 

 

 

 

John opened the container and frowned suspiciously.

 

‘When did you cook this?’ he asked from the kitchen.

 

Sherlock opened his eyes, ‘It’s takeaway. And what day is it?’

 

‘Uh.. technically its Friday.’

 

‘Oh, then Tuesday probably.’

 

‘What?! Oh god!’ John face-palmed and shied heavily. He was feeling so damn tired. He binned Sherlock’s food, put the container in the sink and took the frying pan from its hook. _What I am getting myself into?_ He thought before taking some eggs.

 

 A few minutes later Sherlock smelled fried eggs and thought his being hungry wasn’t probably a ruse entirely. But wait, there was no egg in the food he brought. _John was cooking for him. Hmm._ A small smile appeared on Sherlock’s face.

 

‘So, why is your microwave ‘contaminated’? John asked from the kitchen.

 

‘Oh,  just forgot to remove the thumbs, that’s all.’

 

John almost dropped the plate he was preparing. _Thumbs? What the hell?!_

 

‘What do you mean?’ he asked.

 

Sherlock huffed in mock irritation and came to the kitchen.

 

‘I put some thumbs in the microwave for experiments but forgot to remove them later. Oh, you’ve made eggs. Perfect. If you can take a minute’s break from your staring can I have them now? I think I might be _really_ hungry.

 

John couldn’t decide what to make of that. _Surely Sherlock was joking, wasn’t he? Thumbs? But what if it was true? What if Sherlock was some kind of a maniac who collected thumbs as his trophies?_! John felt cold. _Well done John Watson! In whole London, out of thousands of people you managed to get yourself a serial killer as a neighbor! Well done, you._

 

Sherlock huffed in exasperation, snatched the plate from the kitchen counter and said, ‘Don’t be dull, John. Neither I am a serial killer nor do I collect thumbs and if I were one then I would have collected skulls instead. Those are much more interesting than thumbs. Now if you’ll excuse me can I at least have a moment’s peace to enjoy my food? Oh, by the way, can I have some tea as well?’

 

‘Eat your food and get lost.’ Barked John. He was now beyond his patience limit.

 

This time, thankfully, Sherlock chose to keep his smart mouth shut and shoved the eggs quickly. A few moments later he placed the plate on the counter near which John was sitting now with his head bent over the marble slab of the counter.

 

Sherlock did not know what to do now. He called John’s name but when didn’t get any answer he poked John’s head with his index finger. John slowly raised his head; he looked like someone who had just lost his home to a bank auction. He stared at Sherlock blankly.

 

‘So..umm.. should I go now?’ Sherlock was practically fidgeting.

 

‘If you’d be so kind, please do.’

 

‘Okay, alright. Okay. See you tomorrow then.’

 

‘No.’

 

‘Afternoon?’

 

‘No.’

 

‘Evening then?’

 

‘Please go, have some mercy on me.’

 

‘You are the one who’s keeping me waiting. It’s not my fault that you are not answering properly.’

 

‘SHERLOCK!’

 

Sherlock knew better than to argue. Seconds later when John heard the door slammed he banged his head on the slab.

_What have I gotten myself into?_

**~0~0~0~**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really need your opinion about this story, so if you are reading this note please share your thoughts.

**Author's Note:**

> So, what do you think guys? any good? I'm really nervous about this fic so a word from you would mean the world to me. Readers appreciation is like a life line to writers. Each one of your opinion matters. If you like it then leave a comment or kudos, if you don't then also let me know. But please share your thoughts.
> 
> Johnlock Stuff (sherlockshipsjohnlock.facebook.com)  
> -> it's my Johnlock page. It's new. Soooo, come and have a look around! :D


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